


tell me anything

by ohjustpeachy



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27337825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohjustpeachy/pseuds/ohjustpeachy
Summary: “David, you have a cold, you can tell me these things,” Patrick says, his tone softening. This is probably a remnant of David’s past relationships, not an indication of how David feels about him, Patrick knows, but still.David gets a cold and Moira calls Patrick.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 14
Kudos: 187





	tell me anything

“Patrick, are you there? You must come, and quickly!” Moira Rose’s over-enunciated voice was the last thing Patrick expected to hear upon waking up on a Sunday morning, and it takes him a few seconds to process her words. 

_Come quickly?_ What? 

“Um, Mrs. Rose? What’s going on, is everything okay? Are you—”

“It’s David, darling. He’s got some... some terrible _plague_ , poor dear. There’s terrible sounds coming from his chamber,” she adds like she’s in a horror movie. 

“Have you been in there? He sounded a little congested yesterday, Mrs. Rose, he probably just has—”

“I peeked in from the doorway, darling, but I can’t get too close, you see. The Gals and I have a performance in two days and I need these vocal cords to be in _tip top shape_ don’t I Patrick?” 

Patricks muffles his laughter into a fist. No one was dying, and his boyfriend probably just has a cold. 

“Right, right. Wouldn’t want to jeopardize the show,” Patrick agrees sagely. He swings his legs over the side of his bed, now fully awake and making a mental list of supplies for David as Moira talks a mile a minute about how devastatingly terrible her son sounds. 

“Tell you what, Mrs. Rose, just tell David to stay put, and I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“Oh, aren’t you a peach, Patrick.”

With that, Patrick gets himself into the shower, wondering what exactly he would be in for with a sick David Rose. 

*

On second thought, Patrick’s first instinct wasn’t far from the truth. David was certainly acting like death was coming for him momentarily. 

“Oh my god, Patrick, what are you doing here?” David rasps at him from his bed. His voice is dulled and his consonants rounded with congestion, and from the sight of him, he must be freezing. There are two thick blankets that Patrick can see, covering him so that David is little more than a face and a matted tuft of dark hair. 

It’s kind of adorable.

Alexis is conspicuously absent, probably huddling somewhere away from the germs with Moira, and Patrick places the many pharmacy bags on her bed, turning to face his boyfriend. 

“Your mom called me,” Patrick informs him, trying his best to keep the smile from his lips. He fails almost immediately at the scandalized expression on David’s face.

“Oh my god, I expressly told her _not_ to tell you about this,” David says with a sniff. 

“David, you have a cold, you can tell me these things,” Patrick says, his tone softening. This is probably a remnant of David’s past relationships, not an indication of how David feels about _him_ , Patrick knows, but still. 

“Okay, but this is disgusting,” David says. He turns to the side and coughs as if to illustrate his point, wincing at what is probably a sore throat. 

“Only a little more than usual,” Patrick teases. “Here,” he says, rummaging through the bags until he finds the extra-strength cold tablets and a bottle of Gatorade. “Take this. I figured you probably don’t have medicine on hand here.”

“That would be correct,” David says, but he does as he’s told, swallowing down the medicine and looking at Patrick thankfully. “I have to say, I don’t know where this came from, I am _very_ germ-conscious. I think it was that woman in the store the other day, you know the one who—” David’s gearing up for a conspiracy theory, but Patrick shakes his head and smiles before he really gets going.

“Hey, you know what, your throat could probably benefit from a little bit of a day off, hm?” 

David gapes at him. “Patrick Brewer did you just tell me to shut up?” 

Patrick beams at him. “Not in so many words.”

Before David can reply, Patrick pulls out another few bottles of Gatorade and sets them in the small refrigerator in the other room, and arranges some cans of soup on the table beside the packages of chocolate pudding he’d grabbed at the last minute. It seemed like something David would like, not that he’d ever admit to it, and it would be soft on his throat. 

“You got all that for me?” David asks when Patrick returns to his room and nudges his way into David’s bed beside him. It’s warm from where he’s been laying in it, and for as gross as David believes himself to be, he wastes no time curling up around Patrick. 

“I did,” Patrick nods, leaning over and pushing David’s hair back off his forehead. “Your mom was very worried, I didn’t know how much time you had left,” he smiles.

“You didn’t have to do that. I don’t know that _I_ would have done that.”

Patrick laughs and shakes his head, relaxing as David settles in against him. “Thank you. For always being there for me,” David says quietly.

Patrick feels himself melt just a bit at his words, as soft and sincere as Patrick had ever heard him, and he knows that this is more than likely the first time David’s had someone look after him when he’s sick like this. 

“Anytime, sweetheart,” Patrick says, the endearment slipping out without a thought. 

David’s asleep beside him in a matter of minutes, snoring loudly against his cold, but Patrick finds he doesn’t mind. 


End file.
